


Twenty-Five Liters of Blood

by Emotionally Compromised Robots (CDRomelle)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Joe's anger burns hot and quick, Nicky's is colder and harder, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Religious Themes, the beginnings of forgiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25873939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CDRomelle/pseuds/Emotionally%20Compromised%20Robots
Summary: A little scene of Booker coming back, and how Joe and Nicky react. Joe finds it easier to forgive than Nicky does.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 40
Kudos: 368





	Twenty-Five Liters of Blood

They weren't expecting the knock at the door. 

Nicky was awake first, gun in his hand, the others not far behind as they startled awake. 

Glances were exchanged in the dark. It was past midnight, the four of them crammed into a small studio apartment in Prague, lying low after a job in Paris. 

The knock came again. As if it was a signal, the four of them moved: Nicky to the side of the door that it opened on, pistol in hand; Andy and Nile to the other side, so the door would hide them when it opened. Joe tucked a pistol into his back pocket and opened the door. 

"Who—"

It was Booker. His face tilted slightly down but his jaw set, feet planted. 

"I'm sorry," said Booker, "but we have to talk."

"Booker," said Andy, lowering her axe as she came around the door. 

His eyes flicked from Joe's to hers. "Hey, boss." 

Joe grabbed Booker by his collar and dragged him inside. "You want to talk?" Andy closed the door and he shoved Booker against the wall, fists tight in the rumpled fabric. "What do you want to talk about?"

Booker raised his hands, but made no move to escape or fight back. "Okay. Get it out of your system first."

Joe's hands tightened on Booker's collar. He opened his mouth to speak, eyebrows twisted up over molten eyes, but all that came out was a shaky breath. 

Joe shook his head, slow and weary. He let go. He stepped back. 

And was eclipsed by Nicky's raised fist.

The blow shattered Booker's nose, slammed his head back against the wall with its force. His knees buckled and he slid down the wall. 

"Woah!" shouted Nile. 

Andy sighed. 

Joe was staring at Nicky, who stood over Booker, his fist still raised, blood on his knuckles. 

"Well don't stop there," said Booker thickly, through an already-healing nose clogged with blood. "Take a few more for good measure."

"You cannot give me what I want," said Nicky in a low voice. 

"And what is that?" 

"A kilogram of flesh," said Nicky, his voice still dangerously low. "Two livers, two spleens, two ribs' worth of marrow. Twenty-five liters of blood. Forty-eight hours watching the love of your life die, just out of your reach, powerless to stop it. One hour of despair, of certainty that you will spend eternity on an operating table. That's what I want from you." 

Booker wiped his nose on his sleeve. Dared to meet Nicky's eyes, looked away, looked back. 

"An eye for an eye," he said. "Kind of Old Testament, isn't it?"

A muscle twitched in Nicky's jaw. 

"Enough," said Andy. "Nicky, stand down. Booker, get up. Say what you have to say." 

Nicky lowered his arm, his shoulders still squared and his eyes still boring out of his head. Joe caught his wrist in his hand and held it loosely by their sides. 

Booker didn't get up. He just said: "It's Quynh. Andy, the dreams have changed." 

* * *

Within an hour they were crammed into the car, Andy driving, Booker up front, Joe, Nicky and Nile in the back seat, the trunk loaded with their gear. Nile was still plying Booker with questions as Andy listened, hands clenched around the steering wheel. Nicky hadn't said a word. 

As the other three continued to talk, Joe's hand found Nicky's and held it against the line of their pressed-together thighs. His thumb traced over the back of Nicky's hand, rubbed against the dried blood still clinging to the skin. 

Joe turned his lips to Nicky's ear and said, quietly, only for him, in Zeneize, "Pray with me." 

Nicky looked at him, a silent, stubborn plea. They had a conversation with their eyes: hard and flinty, hot and liquid. 

Joe smiled. A little lopsided quirk of the lips, nothing more. 

Nicky shuddered, just a flicker across his face. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, tilting slightly so he was temple to temple with Joe, all four of their hands now interlaced over their knees. A tear slipped down Nicky's cheek, into Joe's beard.

They didn't speak out loud. They didn't need to. They just breathed, together. Always together. 

**Author's Note:**

> This just popped into my head and I wanted to write it. Do you think this could be how their reunion would go down? Let me know!


End file.
